Chapter Three

“Let me help you with that,” Val’s father said, propping the front storm door open with a broomstick. The closer had broken weeks ago. Dad had never been much of a handyman.

His face appeared flushed against his long shock of mussed white hair. His round, stooped form, sweating in a loose-fitting T-shirt and baggy gym shorts, looked ready to collapse. He took the box from her arms, grunting at the weight of it. “Damn,” he said. “What’s in here, your rock collection?”

“Rocks, hell,” Val said, deadpan. “Those are bullets...my little ones.”

Dad blanched, and she worried that he’d drop the box. “Kidding!” she said, taking it back from him. “I’ll get this. Can you grab some of my clothes out of the back?”

“Don’t even kid about that,” he said. “You know how I feel about guns in the house. And you promised.”

“No guns, no bombs, no ammo, I swear.” Val bit back an angrier retort, pushed past him, and headed up the stairs. She didn’t dare look around. Cleaning Dad’s house would be chore number three, right after moving and cleaning her own place.

“Leave that down here for now,” he said before she got halfway up. “I, uh, didn’t quite finish getting the room ready.”

Val stopped, closed her eyes, clenched her teeth, and counted to ten. Twenty.

“Dad. You had a month.”

“Sorry. I only need another day or two. I’ll be right back.” He shuffled outside.

Val trudged back down the stairs. This time, she couldn’t avoid taking stock of the living room. As usual, he’d left it a wreck. His old recliner, the leather ripping in strategic locations in the arms and seat, now sat about three feet from the large, flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. Stacks of newspapers, True Crime magazines, and unopened mail lined the walls. Takeout containers half-filled with cold Chinese, Thai, and Mexican food covered the coffee table, interspersed with empty soda cans and used plastic flatware. The place smelled like a garbage scow. No doubt the kitchen was worse. She didn’t even want to think about the condition of his bedroom. He’d moved into the first-floor guest room after she went off to college, because, she assumed, he didn’t want to risk using the stairs in his often-inebriated condition.

He’d promised to clean out the master bedroom upstairs that he’d once shared with Mom. Val had suggested Chad’s old room instead, but no go. Dad had converted that into an office after his alcoholism got him “medically retired” from his executive position at Ashford Machine and Dye. After a few years of working from home as a consultant, he quit that, too. Since then he’d filled it with too much junk to even attempt to clean it out. And her old room...no. Just, no.

Which left only one alternative: the garage.

Not a bad option, in the scheme of things. In high school, Val converted it into a private gym, and slept out there more often than in her own bed. It had electricity, heat, and hot and cold water. She even installed a portable shower hose, which Dad never had the gumption to remove. The garage would make a fine apartment once again.

Val tiptoed through the miscellaneous crap littering the floor to the garage doorway, careful not to step on anything, dead or alive, that wasn’t carpet or hardwood. She had her hip pressed against the lever of the door handle when Dad reappeared at the front door with boxes stacked high in front of his face.

“A little help?” he called from the steps.

Val sighed. “One second.” She pushed her way into the garage. The space remained as empty as when she’d left it earlier that morning. But she’d have to park the Honda on the street from now on. She set down the box of books and hurried back to the front door.

“I’ll get the room ready this afternoon, I promise,” Dad said, edging sideways through the doorway. “Tomorrow, the latest.”

“It’s okay, Dad. I’ll set up in the garage again.” She took the top box from him and kicked a path through the debris in the living room. No more messing around.

“No, honey, listen,” he said, trailing behind her. “Give me a few more hours. It’s just hard, you know?”

Going through Mom’s stuff, he meant.

“It’s okay. Take your time.” She led the way out to the garage and stacked the fresh box on top of the old one.

“You can’t live out here in this drafty old place. It’s full of old oil cans and crap, and—”

“There’s plenty of room. I like it out here, remember?”

Sadness crawled over Dad’s face, and he slumped against the wall. No words.

He remembered.

***

Val unloaded the rest of her stuff while Dad disappeared upstairs, presumably to get the bedroom ready despite her protests. Then she gathered up the takeout containers, old newspapers, and miscellaneous garbage strewn about the living room. One glance at the kitchen told her the ominous task of tackling that area would have to wait.

After loading up her father’s SUV with a bucket of cleaning supplies, she drove it to her apartment. She hauled the bed out and tied it to the roof—one small virtue of twin-sized mattresses—then got to work cleaning the place. Beth had come by after all and taken care of the kitchen and bathroom, bless her, and her own bedroom. That left only the living room and Val’s bedroom. Piece of cake. She opened the hall closet to grab the upright vacuum, one of the few adult possessions Val had contributed to their living arrangement.

Taped to the handle, Val found a note on letter-sized paper, addressed to her, in Beth’s handwriting. She sat on the floor and opened it.

Dear Val,

Honestly, I don’t know where to begin. We’ve been best friends for literally half my life…Where would I be without you?

I’m sorry about the way things ended between us as roommates. I didn’t handle it very well. I wanted to sit down and talk with you a hundred times over the past six weeks, but it never felt like the right time.

But deep down I know that timing wasn’t really the problem. I’ve been avoiding you, because I didn’t know what to say. You’ve been going through a lot, and I haven’t been there for you. Again, I’m sorry.

The truth is, we’ve grown apart over the past few years. College changed us. Life changed us. Becoming a cop changed you. But I still love you so, so much—that will never change. And different doesn’t mean bad—it means we’re going in different directions.

I’m going to miss you. Not that we’ll never see each other—we will, a LOT, I promise! But the random, unplanned conversations, the all-nighters, the spontaneous time…we’ll lose that, and that sucks.

So how about let’s have a drink soon and have some girl talk again, okay?

Love 4ever,

Beth

Val set down the note, leaned against the wall, and let the tears flow.

***

Back at Dad’s a few hours later, Val set up her bed in the garage and fashioned a makeshift closet out of a four-foot length of galvanized pipe, some wire, and a couple of hooks she screwed into the ceiling. She even found the old holes in the gypsum she’d used seven or eight years before, the last time she’d transformed the space for full-time living. She arranged her boxes of folded clothes for easy access and even set up her make-up table—something she started using now and again since getting together with Gil. Then, as if summoned, he called her.

“I hope I called late enough for my offer to help to be rendered moot,” he said, his voice on the edge of laughter.

“Are you kidding? I waited on all the heavy stuff, just for you,” she said in mock irritation. “And you’d better bring dinner. Dad and I are hungry.”

“That part, I have under control,” he said. “Except my chauffeur appears to be preoccupied with cleaning and organizing. Which means dinner is Chez Kryzinski tonight. When might you be able to bring said father over for some quality grub?”

“Ooh, quality grub. Your salesmanship is off the charts today. How about seven o’clock? That’ll give me time to sandblast the sweat and grit off my skin.”

“Don’t you dare. I want visual proof that you’ve been working hard. Seven’s fine. Um, I take it, since Dad’s coming, no wine tonight?”

“Best not to. Thanks for remembering.”

“How can I not? I think of you constantly. I’m counting the seconds, my dear.”

“Liar. How many?”

A pause. “Fourteen thousand, three hun—”

“No fair using your calculator,” she said, laughing.

“Damn, you should have gone into law. You’d make an amazing prosecutor.”

Val blushed, glad he couldn’t see her face reddening. “But then I’d have never met the great Chef Kryzinski.”

“Touché. See you in...fourteen thousand, three hundred and seventy-five seconds. Seventy-four...”

“Dork.”

“Love you too,” he said, laughing, and broke the connection.

Val set her phone down, and only then noticed Dad standing in the doorway, holding another box in his arms.

“Um, some ground rules?” she said. “Like, knock before entering my room?”

“This isn’t your room, it’s my garage.” He set the box down on the floor. “I told you, your real room will be ready by tonight.”

“You said this afternoon.”

Dad crossed his arms. “I’m doing the best I can.”

Val bit back a retort that would have escalated the tension more. “Whenever it’s ready is fine. I’m comfortable here.”

“I’m not comfortable with you here. It isn’t right.” He pushed out a loud breath of air. “I have a few more boxes to bring down, then I’ll be back to work at it. You can use Chad’s old queen bed if that’s all right with you?”

“That’s fine. Listen, it’s been a long day. Let’s take a break and have some dinner. Gil invited us over—he’s an excellent cook.”

Dad shook his head and waved her off. “I’ll grab a sandwich. You go on ahead.”

“Dad, Gil wants to get to know you. You guys have barely met, and he’s an important part of my life now. As are you.”

He shook his head again, emphatic. “Not tonight. I’m not up for it.”

Val’s body sagged. “Please? It’d mean a lot to me.” She folded her hands under her chin, pleading.

He gazed at her and took another quick, heavy breath. “We’ll see. Come find me in an hour. Make sure I haven’t fallen in.” He laughed. Val wondered what he found so funny.

Two hours later, she ventured upstairs. She discovered him sitting rock-still on the floor of the master bedroom, staring at a photograph. Without looking, she knew which picture had upset him. She sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulders.

“You two look so happy in that picture,” Val said.

“Happiest day of my life,” he said, his voice raspy.

“Hers too,” Val said. “So she often said.”

“Pah.” He tossed the photo to the floor. “Her happiest day was the day she left. And the next day, and the day after that.”

“You don’t know that,” Val said, shaking his shoulders a little. “I bet she was miserable.”

“Then why didn’t she come back?” His voice took on a steely edge, the hurt slashing the air like a fiery blade. “No, Val. I drove her away.”

“No, I did,” Val said. “I made you both crazy with my…my problems.” She inhaled a deep, solemn breath.

“You were just a kid,” he said. “It wasn’t your fault. No, she left because of my drinking. So she said.”

“She drank, too,” Val said in a soft voice. “And smoked. And it’s not like she was the warmest person I’d ever met.”

He shot her a wry smile. “Don’t talk like that about your mother.”

Val sighed again and pointed at the piles of memorabilia all around them. “Maybe you should get rid of some of this stuff.”

“I’ve tried. It’s hard.” His face wrinkled into a deep, sad frown. “It’s all I have left of her, Valorie. Of that part of my life.” He wrapped an arm around Val. “Well. I still have you kids, of course.”

“Dad.” Despite the tension, she surrendered a weak smile. “This is the first time in ten years we’ve spoken without trying to kill each other.”

“Isn’t it terrific? I love this.”

Val smiled and wiggled out of their embrace. “Me too. So, let’s ride this momentum and get cleaned up for dinner. Gil’s making—”

“No, no, I can’t,” Dad said. “I’m nowhere near done, and I promised.”

“Michael Dawes, for heaven’s sake,” Val said. “The garage is fine for as long as it takes. Okay?”

His smile showed more sadness than mirth. “Careful about lowering your expectations too much,” he said.

She bit back her reflexive reply: I’m used to it.